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y, así, entre tanto aldabonazo a la vida, pasan lunas y mas lunas, mientras en el Plenilunio los hombres de los castros, succionaban la cerveza ritual, bailando con un solo pie lanzando aturuxos al aire, mientras una moura peina sus cabellos rubios y una serpiente espera los nueve besos que abrirán el gran tesoro a aquél que sepa descifrar el mensaje de la Luna y tenga la virilidad de pasar las pruebas sin caer en el terror, al tiempo que, desde lo alto, dedica su sonrisa a los Sete Pitos de Ouro.
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And, in its conjunction, an interminable rate, the rate of sea, waves and tides, where the Moon marks the time and it is transformed into stone and wave in the circles becomes cross that it, appear its hidden mysteries for always. Between the Luar and the Lubre, the concentric circles mark the rate of waves and tides, the one of the stone and the time, the one of of the life and the death, resurging the principle and aim of the existence through rate of the water slipping on the stone. and, thus, meanwhile bang to the life, passes moons and but moons, while in the Full moon the men of the castros, sucked the ritual beer, dancing with a single foot sending aturuxos to the air, while one moura combs its blond hair and a serpent waits for the nine kisses that will abrirán the great treasure to which it knows to decipher the message of the Moon and has the virilidad to pass the tests without falling in the terror, while, from the stop, it dedicates to his smile to the Sete Whistles of Ouro.
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